They Call Me Woe
by Abibliophobia Brouhaha
Summary: Twilight rewrite. A very different Bella arrives in Forks. Cold, bold, and lost, she turns the town around with a flick of her middle finger. "All you got is you. It's a lesson everyone learns at one point in their lives. I just learned it sooner than most." This is my twist on Twilight. EdxBel romance.
1. Preface

_Twilight is the work of Stephenie Meyer, not me. I take no credit for her characters. This is just my spin on a popular story._

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**They Call Me Woe**

_**Summary: A very different Bella arrives in Forks. Cold, bold, and lost, she turns the town around with a flick of her middle finger. "All you got is you. It's a lesson everyone learns at one point in their lives. I just learned it sooner than most." **_

_**Warnings: This story deals with the following: Attempted suicide, drinking, smoking, substance abuse, gay and straight relations, abuse – both child and adult, neglect, self-hate and self-abuse. If any of these things are offensive to you and you do not wish to read one or more of these topics, press the 'x' up at the corner. If you are under the age of 16 – which I deem the appropriate age to view this – then I beg you to not read.**_

_**Bold faced sentences in the story are copied from page 1 of Twilight.**_

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_Preface_

**I'd never given much thought to how I would die** – Okay, that's a boldfaced lie. That's pretty much all I've ever thought about since I was ten years old. It wasn't just some sick, morbid curiosity. I actually put a lot of thought into it.

The time. The place. The weapon used. The tears cried. The music in which I would be honored. The headstone. Maybe it was sick, maybe it was morbid, but it wasn't simple curiosity. It was a dead end. Inevitable.

_Wanted..._

So why am I so terrified now that death is looming over me, touching my skin with its cold fingers and blowing its rotting breath into my face? Why did I turn my head away from it, as if I didn't want it?

Death stared into my face – my retched soul – with cold, unmoving eyes and a calculating smile. He patted my hair down with something akin to affection, but I knew better. Death didn't feel. I shivered under his impenetrable stare, ragged breaths huffing from my chapped and battered lips.

I wasn't ready, but I was resolved.

I mean **surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even.** Forgiving. I could be forgiven for my wrong-doings. I could be forgiven for my selfishness, my callousness, my... existence. Yeah, dying in the place of another was my only salvation. It was my savings grace.

Death watched me with his dark eyes and sadistic smile. He leaned in closer. So slowly. So intimidating. He was drawing out the torture and anxiety because he too wanted to feel something. Like me, he got a sick jolt of excitement from an impending end.

I smiled sadly as his mouth hovered inches from my pumping jugular. Only I would lump myself together with Death.

_He_ – the reason I am here in the first place – would be rolling his eyes at my silly stupidity. His face, so beautiful and so calming, flashed through my minds eye for the last time as a tear slid down my cheek and pain ripped through my body.

Death – ready or not, here it comes.

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_**Please let me know if you're interested in seeing this continued.**_


	2. Goodbye Sunny Side

_**Previous disclaimer and warnings apply.**_

_******I was so happy to see that people took to this and are excited to see where it goes. I've never gotten much encouragement for my writing and I really appreciated it!**_

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_Chapter 1: Goodbye Sunny Side_

"Do you think you're ready?" Dr. Wright asked, his pen hovering over that damn notebook in which he used to judge me with.

I shook my head. "I don't know."

It was an honest enough reply. I knew I was ready to leave Phoenix, leave my Mother, Renee and Phil – her new husband. But I wasn't sure I was ready to go home to my Father, Charlie. To Forks. That's a hole other can of worms I'm not sure my head could deal with.

"Your Mother believes it would be best for you and I have to agree. A change of scenery should be good for you. You won't be surrounded by your mistakes," Dr. Wright commented, scribbling a short note in his book, his eyes glancing up at me every now and again.

"Mistakes," I scoffed, shaking my head and smiling wistfully to myself. I am sure he was referring to my failed suicide. Yeah, it was a mistake. It was a mistake that I didn't time it correctly. It was a mistake that I didn't take into account my overly sensitive and intuitive Mother coming home early from dinner because she had a _bad feeling_.

It was a mistake that I had failed to do the one thing I needed to do in order to be free.

But I know he was thinking that the whole thing was a mistake. That I even tried to off myself in the first place. That's what he thought. That's what everyone kept telling me. It was a bad thing. A no-no.

Bad girl.

So I agreed with them. I let them all believe that I truly, whole-heartedly regretted what I had done. If they'd paid more attention, they'd know what a big fat liar I am.

I didn't regret it. I did, however, feel very bad for hurting the people in my life the way I did. But I knew going in that every action bears a consequence.

I could still hear my mother's screams echoing in my head. Her heartbreaking pleas. The sweet sense of relief being ripped away from me as she shoved her fingers down my throat. The sirens...

"Want to tell me what's on your mind?" the good doctor asked, pulling me from the past. I shook my head. I really didn't. If he knew what was on my mind, I wouldn't be released from this damn place. I would be stuck here for even longer. I would be force-fed sedatives and relaxants every time I got a little angry and maybe pushed an orderly down a flight of stairs.

It happened once and all of the sudden I'm a savage animal.

I looked around the beige room, furnished lightly with a beige sofa and beige chair and fucking beige carpet and I grimaced inwardly.

Funnily enough, this place depressed me. _Me._ It didn't help me in the least, not that I wanted the help. I wanted freedom. From this place. This world. And since I would continually be denied the latter, I would settle. For now.

"You don't want to talk about your feelings on moving so far away from your home? Your anxieties? Your... fears?"

That hit a nerve.

"I don't have any," I retorted indignantly, as I had told him time and time again. I didn't fear anything. Nothing could hurt me, harm me, kill me, unless I allowed it.

Never again would I feel the hopelessness of not having control over myself or my destiny. That was all my own. Mine. And no one would take it from me. So, no. I feared nothing.

"Everyone has fears, Bella. Everyone has worries. It's okay to share them with someone," Dr. Wright smiled sympathetically. Dr. Wright knew my story. He knew all about me. He's only been my therapist for...ever. But he may as well have been a stranger now. My head was a locked safe. My emotions were mine and mine alone.

He wasn't needed. Not anymore.

I checked the clock on the wall by the door and sighed dejectedly, sinking down into the small sofa. Still ten more minutes of this shit left for me to endure. I leaned my back and closed my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest, a silent communication that I was finished talking.

To my great relief – and somewhat surprise – the ten minutes passed in silence. The only sounds being my breathing and the scribbling of a pen.

…

The sun shone bright in the sky. The heat beat down on my pale skin and my eyes struggled to adjust. I was so used to being inside these days. I wasn't permitted fresh air because I was always fucking sedated. I think I spent four of the six months in a dream-like state, wondering where the hell that purple hippo came from. I still don't know.

"I have good feelings," Mom announced, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. "This is going to be so good for you and Charlie, I know it."

I shrugged her off, ignoring how the smile fell from her pretty face. She knew better than to touch me. "Yeah, I'm sure you think that," I said, rolling my eyes.

My Mother was forever an optimist. While we were similar in looks, we couldn't have been any more different. She's Venus and I'm Neptune. Dad is Pluto, but that's a whole other story and situation.

I climbed into the passenger seat as Mom got behind the wheel. She turned to me and smiled, a little less than enthused. "You ready?"

"You giving me a choice?" I asked sarcastically. I hated not having control of a situation. I hated decisions being made for me. I was all for leaving Phoenix and my hovering Mother behind me, but I would have liked to of made the decision on where I was being sent off to myself.

I would not have chosen My Father's home in Forks, that's for fucking sure.

"No," Mom grumbled, turning away from me. She sighed as she started the car, the old piece of crap rumbling to life with a gravely roar. I sunk in my seat and turned away from her. My eyes inevitably caught the place I lived for six months.

My main nurse, Gary, stood outside the doors with his hands in his pockets and a grim look on his face as he stared me down. He had fought for me to stay, insisting that I needed more time, more treatments, more group therapy sessions, more more more! I laughed to myself because he was right. He was fucking right, but no one cared to hear it.

I had convinced them all I was ready. I was saved. I could leave. I'm cured.

I smirked at him and gave him a teasing wave as Mom backed out of her parking space and onto the road. I watched my temporary home disappear in the side view mirror.

Sunny Side Mental Institution got smaller and smaller until I just couldn't see anymore.

_Goodbye Sunny Side._


	3. The Long Trip Home

_**All previous disclaimers and warnings apply.**_

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_**I don't know how many more times I'll be updating this week, but everything seems to be going smoothly so maybe... Once or twice more? I'm not sure.**_

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**Chapter 2: The Long Trip Home**

In her skewed way of trying to connect with me one last time, Mom insisted upon driving me all the way to Forks Washington.

It was a long ass ride.

I had to endure happy hippie 60s music for the first ten hour drive, with Phil tailing us in the moving truck, honking every few hours to let Mom know he was ready for a potty break or if he needed more smokes. That fucktard is a chain-smoker.

The first part of our trip dragged ass and took a helluva lot longer than it should have and I was losing my shit.

It sucked. Really, like, I wanted to kill myself... again.

Finally, the first of what was hopefully only two days of driving, we stopped at a nice hotel with a lit up _'Welcome'_ sign and an outdoor pool. The sky was already darkening and all I wanted to do was sleep and pretend it was for forever.

I'm morbid and strange; what can I say?

Mom popped the trunk and pulled out two red duffel bags, handing one off to me with a grin. "It has all the essentials," she informed me.

Phil parked the huge moving truck next to Mom's minuscule car and climbed out. His smile was tight as he greeted me, thankfully keeping his hands away from me. The last thing I wanted was a fucking hug, something my Mother just wasn't getting.

"Good to see you, Bella," he lied. Phil hated, hates, will always hate me. He thinks I'm a crazy bitch. He'd be correct in that assessment.

I glared at him and flipped him the bird when Mom turned her back on us to grab her coke out of the front seat. He just shook his head and pretended not to notice.

"Okay! Let's get inside. Maybe we can go swimming?" she smiled excitedly, looking at me with hope filled eyes.

"Nah," I shrugged, "I'm gonna get some sleep."

"Oh," she sighed, sounding disappointed.

I loved my Mother, don't get me wrong, but I didn't like her very much. I didn't like anyone actually. It was set in my DNA to be aloof and standoffish. I liked to keep people at a distance because I didn't see the point in forming relationships with people that would just end at one point or another.

I've seen how it works a million times over. You make a friend, you talk nicey-nice to each other, then blab smack behind each others backs. Even in families, as in mine, no one can be trusted.

Fucking no one.

All you got is you. It's a lesson everyone learns at one point in their lives. I just learned it sooner than most.

…

I sat up in the hotel bed, itching on the hotel sheets, fluffing the hotel pillow, and hating the fucking place to pieces. I hate hotels. I'd almost rather be back in the car with my Mom and her lame music blasting in my ears.

My Mom, that woman is really pissing me off. First, she decided that I am to share a room with them, stating that she 'doesn't want me to be alone yet.' Then, she left me to go splash around in the pool with her boy-toy like a teenage girl away from home for the first time, squealing and stealing kisses.

Sometimes I really couldn't stand the woman. I wished she'd grow the fuck up and stop trying to be my best friend.

I had no friends. Like I said, it's stupid and pointless.

after an hour of trying in vain to get comfortable I screamed, frustrated and sat up in bed. My duffel bag held a toothbrush, brush, nightgown, and a second set of clothes. Hardly the fucking essentials. Where's a book? Where's a puzzle? Where's the knife to slash my damn wrists out of sheer boredom?

I rifled through Mom's bag and found the same shit with the inclusion of a purple and pink loofah and grape scented body soap. I threw her bag to the floor and walked over to the fucktards bag sitting atop their bed. He'd be pissed of I went through his crap, so that's why I did it.

Getting Phil riled up with no outlet for his anger amused me.

His bag was basically the same as mine and Mom's; a toothbrush, jeans, t shirts, bandannas baseball caps, deck of cards, – which I took – a facial mask, the little pussy, and a pack of... _oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph._ I unrolled the long pack of colorful condoms, grimacing at the thought of... _ew._ If that motherfucker thinks he's gonna get some while I'm in the room, he's got another thing coming.

I took all the condoms from the bag and stomped over to the fourth floor window. With a smile, I tossed the fuckers free, watching with a sick satisfaction as they zigzagged and flapped to the ground, disappearing in the darkness.

Just then, the door flew open and Mom strolled in with a fluffy white towel wrapped around her shoulders and a blissful smile on her face. She caught sight of me hovering nervously by the open window and her smile dropped so quickly and her mouth dropped open.

"What are you doing?" she asked frantically, running to me. All the color drained from her face and I thought that she knew what I had done. But she pushed me away from the window and slammed it shut.

Then it dawned on me. And I laughed.

She thought I was going to jump. Out of a fucking four story window? I doubled over with tears streaming down my cheeks. I probably looked like a nut-job, but what else is new?

"Mom, I-" I tried to speak but the hysterical giggles hindered me from doing so. I probably needed another dose of Klonopin.

I may be suicidal but stupid I am not. Jumping from a fourth story window wouldn't kill me. The landing would hurt like a bitch and I am not much for pain – ironic?

"This is hardly a laughing matter, Isabella," Mom stuttered. She grabbed my arm and hauled me up from my crouched position on the floor to look into my eyes. "I thought you were better," she cried.

"Mom," I snickered, dragging my arm from her fingers. I shook my head, rubbing my hands down my face to try to get the smile to go away. I was almost successful. "I was just getting some fresh air," I lied.

_'I was tossing your sex life out the window' _just didn't sound right.

"Really?" she asked doubtfully. Her eyes flickered all over my face as if she would find the truth there.

_Good luck,_ I thought. An open book I am not. I am the master of the stone-face.

I probably should have been offended by her complete lack of faith in my will to live, but we all know that would be a bunch of horse shit. She had every right to doubt my will to live because I didn't have one. I had a will to protect myself and survive – for the time being. But that's it.

"Yep," I said, turning away from her and crawling back into my bed. I opened up the deck of cards and tried to contain my snorts while Mom watched me out of the corner of her eye.

She sat on the edge of her bed, facing me, watching me, making me itchy under her scrutinizing gaze.

Phil came in a few moments later with three bottles of Coco-cola. He tossed one at me, almost hitting my face with the brunt bottom. I glared at him and raised one of his cards for him to get a good look at. His eyes grew furious and he took a step toward me. I just smirked and licked it with all the slobber and saliva I could produce.

"You little-" he stopped and looked at my Mom who was watching us with perplexed eyes. Mom couldn't be more oblivious to fact that Phil hated me or to the fact that the feeling was oh so mutual. She expected us to bond in a father daughter sort of way right off the bat, even though he was only a few years older than I me.

Yeah, Mom's a cougar.

He smiled tightly at Mom and handed her her drink. He plopped down on the other side of the bed and shuffled through his bag. I could hardly contain the smile on my face as his hands became more and more frantic as he searched.

A low laugh escaped me and I quickly covered my mouth as I pretended to focus on my game of Solitaire. But I could feel his dark blue eyes on my face, glaring holes into my skin.

It made my day. I get sick pleasures from his anger.

…

"Phil is in the foulest mood today," Mom sighed as we drove through the light traffic early in the morning, her eyes darting between the road in front of us and the side view mirror where Phil could be seen trailing closely behind us.

I smiled into my hand and shrugged.

"Wonder why," I said, muffled. "He's usually so damn chipper."

"He forgot to pack something," she said quietly, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

I snorted.

I knew Phil wouldn't sell me out to her. He wanted to stay in her good graces – and her pants – by pretending that he and I were besties. As-fucking-if. Even if I were interested in having a friend, Phil would be last on that list. He was a shady motherchucker and a tit to boot.

Thankfully Mom didn't play any music today and I could just get lost in my own head for ten hours. That's a dream come true for me. I liked to imagine things. Happy things. Like, maybe what my life would be like had things not gone so fucking sour when I was younger. It was not something I liked to talk about, but I would have liked to have a fighting chance, you know? A chance to be someone. A chance to amount to something other than callous and snarcastic.

I could have been something and it bothered me that I'd never know.

But I was resolved.

This was my life and I had to deal with it in my own way. Still, imagination kept me going for another day. Those days, however, were limited.

…

The clock read 10pm as Mom pulled into the vaguely familiar driveway, Phil and the moving truck parked by the curb. It had been quite a long time since I had been to my Father's home. Even longer since I'd had to call it mine.

The grass was mostly brown with splotches of green here and there. The white house was yellowed to the point of disgusting, and the mailbox hug to the side.

_White trash anyone?_

An entire portion of the house – the side and the back – was shrouded in trees that went into a dark and demented looking forest. Dark and demented. Huh. Maybe I would fit in.

I climbed out of the car, only taking my duffel bag and leaving the rest for Phil and my Dad to worry about. I didn't plan on staying here long so I wasn't going to be lugging anything in. I stopped at the front door, unsure of what to do.

Do I knock? Do I ring the doorbell? Do I just walk right in?

None of those options felt right, so I waited on the porch and watched in amusement as Phil struggled with the headboard to my bed Mom insisted I take. Which is weird if you think about it. I thought the reason of me coming here was to leave my mistakes and all things that reminded me of it behind. Yet, there he was, lugging in the bed I almost died on.

I'll never understand people's reasoning.

Phil dropped the headboard on his foot and cursed loudly. I laughed out loud at him and he glared at me which only fueled my can. I stuck my tongue out and flipped him off just as the door flew open behind me.

"Isabella," he breathed. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head.

My Father.

I hadn't seen him in almost three years. Three fucking years. I turned to face him and my jaw literally dropped to the floor. He looked so old. So worn out. At only thirty-eight years old, Dad looked like he had been to hell and back and I knew I was to blame.

I cared... a little. Not enough to apologize, but I cared.

"Dad," I smiled. "It's, uh, good to see you." I crossed my arms over my chest, silently communicating that a hug was not warranted. Though I had no reason. Dad wasn't much of a hugger anyhow.

"Yeah," he smiled softly, "You too, kid."

He didn't ask me how I was feeling, how I was fairing, how I was doing. He just smiled once more and then went to help Phil with my things.

That's what I liked most about him – he didn't hover. He didn't ask me stupid fucking questions and he gave me my space that I had to practically beg for with my Mother.

It made it that much easier to accept my new home. Because when the time came – and it _would_, soon – I would be successful. This time, Mom wouldn't stop me and I would finally be in peace. For once in my life, I would be filled with relief that I was finally and totally, free.

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_**Let me know what you**_**_ think._**

**_Next chapter, we meet a Cullen and mine are DIFFERENT._**


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